The Bet
by vanityfair
Summary: Professor Snape challenges Miss Granger to a bet. With reputation and pride on the line, both are determined to win.
1. Snape

A/N: I usually try to avoid Potions discussions because I find them hard to write, however, it was unavoidable in this story so I hope it is believable and if it isn't, well, bear with me. As always J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and please remember to tell me what you think at the end!

**The Bet**

He noticed that her hand was raised again. He contemplated ignoring it, testing both her patience and muscle endurance, but then changed his mind; he knew both were limitless. And even though she no longer waved her arm in that irritating manner of her first year, he knew that she wouldn't put it down until he acknowledged it.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" he asked. He scowled at her in his normal manner, knowing that this too would be disregarded. He dreaded that moment when a student's fear of him dissipated into disrespect. It usually occurred sometime in their last two years but unluckily for him Hermione Granger was advanced in that regard as well; she had stopped fearing him in her third year at Hogwart's.

"It's just that what you've written about acquiring bicorn powder, well it's…" she trailed off.

"What Miss Granger?" he asked sharply. He began mentally calculating how many points he could deduct without suffering the wrath of Minerva McGonagall.

The girl looked chagrined and whispered something inaudible. His patience thinning, he stalked towards the desk she shared with Weasley and stared down at her.

"Please, share with the rest of class. We are all awaiting your infinite wisdom," he said, his voice no longer angry but silkily sweet in its taunting. She appeared to be affronted by his condescending tone and with dismay he noticed that instead of deflating her like he had intended, it had instead bolstered her confidence.

'Damn those Gryffindors and their courage,' he thought as she lifted her head slightly and looked him in the eye.

"It's wrong, sir. You wrote on the blackboard that bicorns could be found in Britain, but they are only in Russia and Peru. Its one reason why bicorn powder is such an expensive Potions ingredient" she said.

He stared at her in surprise and then his blood began to boil. Instinctually, he reached for his wand before he remembered that hexing a student was looked down upon.

"Of all the arrogant and impertinent…Just because I occasionally accuse you of being an insufferable know-it-all does not mean I actually believe you know everything," he snarled. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for your serious lack of respect and failure to read the text that I assigned."

"But, sir," she protested.

"And detention tonight," he added for good measure. "Back to work, everyone!"

Every head in the room reluctantly turned back to their cauldrons as he marched past the rows of desks. He could hear Malfoy and his friends snickering at her humiliation and he could see Weasley attempting to console the girl. He noticed that her face was red and two small tears made their way down her face, dropping into her potion.

"Get back to work, Weasley," he barked, coming to stop in front of their desk once more.

"Your sniveling is both unattractive and immature, Miss Granger. You will ruin your potion if you continue to cry into it, and I would hate to see you fail today's assignment in addition to what you have already achieved this period," he said quietly but harshly. She didn't return his penetrating gaze, but defiantly wiped her eyes on the sleeves of her robes.

He straightened and returned to his desk feeling triumphant. He had put Granger in her place and with another ten points from Gryffindor, Slytherin could pull ahead. He seemed certain he could find another ten points somewhere. Today might just be a good day after all.

* * *

He spent the rest of the day coming up with things for Miss Granger to do for detention. He had contemplated making her do something menial like scrubbing cauldrons without magic or cleaning the trophy room but in the end he decided that if she was ever to learn her lesson then she needed to forced to confront her behavior.

"You will write an essay six feet long on the dangers of arrogant pride. You will define it, analyze it, and provide examples, including your own today in class. That is what you will do during detention. You will write another essay, twenty feet long on the properties of bicorn powder and hand it in to me on Thursday," he told her that night.

"But, Professor Snape the N.E.W.T.s are coming up and I need to revise!" she protested.

"They aren't for another three weeks! And you should have thought of that before your little performance today in class."

"I stand by what I said, sir."

Her continued defiance astounded him. He had sneered, snarled, and humiliated her in front of her classmates. He had deducted points, assigned detention, and yet she continued in her belief that she was right and he was wrong.

"I have been teaching Potions since before you were born, you insolent girl," he spat, "Do you truly think you somehow have gained an upper hand when it comes to knowledge of ingredients?"

"No sir," she answered.

"Good." He turned to leave her to her work, sighing audibly when he heard her speak again.

"But I do think your source material is outdated." He turned quickly on her, his robes swishing around him.

"Are you calling me old?" he demanded.

"No…I didn't mean that…I…," she struggled to answer. Her stammering calmed him somewhat and suddenly he had an idea.

"I propose a bet, Miss Granger," he said smoothly. She looked at him in astonishment at his sudden change of demeanor.

"A bet, sir?"

"Yes, if you can prove to me that you are right and I am wrong then you win the bet. If, however, you cannot, then I win," he explained.

"But what will I win?"

"So certain you will?" he asked in awe at her continued conceit.

"I wouldn't agree to it if I didn't, Professor."

"Then you agree?"

"Yes, but what will the stakes be?"

"I suppose I could give you back the points you lost today, if and only if, you can prove that you were right." He made sure to phrase it so that 'I' and 'wrong' weren't together. He despised admitting that he was wrong; however, in this case he was certain he wouldn't have to. He would take great pleasure in humiliating Miss Granger.

"That's not necessary. I won back those points later in Charms," she told him.

So that explained why even after taking another fifteen points from a third year Gryffindor that Slytherin had lagged behind in the House points at dinner. It seemed despite all his efforts his house would lose the house cup for the seventh year in a row.

"I suggest something worth more than just house points, sir."

"Such as?"

"Since you seem so bent on teaching me about arrogant pride, I think that we should start there."

"I'm listening," he said, motioning his hand for her to continue. This might be better than he thought. If he won this little bet he could ensure that she never raised her hand in his class again.

"If you win, then I will declare in front of everyone in the Great Hall that you are the best teacher that Hogwart's has ever seen."

He liked that idea. He imagined the looks on people's faces, especially McGonagall's and Vector's faces when she admitted that her favorite professor was the greasy Potions Master.

"And if you win?" he asked.

"Then you announce to everyone at dinner that I am the best student you have ever had."

That didn't seem so appealing. He didn't really like any of his students. A couple of the Ravenclaws weren't so bad, but even his own Slytherin students tried his patience on a daily basis. He certainly didn't want to declare in public that a Gryffindor was the best student that he had ever had.

"I accept, but I have one thing to add. If I win then you will never raise your hand or ask another question in my class again." He watched as her face contorted in anger.

"I hardly think…."

"Just think of it as insurance that you will never get yourself into another situation like this again, Miss Granger," he said interrupting her.

"Fine," she huffed, "but if I win then you have to promise to call on me when my hand is raised. My arm really starts to hurt sometimes."

"You could always put it down," he pointed out. She didn't respond but just glared at him.

"So it's a deal then?" he asked, offering her his hand. She looked at it for a moment and then up at him before finally taking his hand and shaking it.

"It's a deal, Professor." They stood there staring at each other for a few awkward moments, both unsure of what to do next.

"Well get to work," he said finally, "I want that six feet done tonight."

"What?!" she asked indignantly. "I still have detention! But I thought…"

"Thought what? That our little bet would get you out of your punishment? I don't think so. Even if you are right, you still decided to point out the mistake in front of my entire 7th year N.E.W.T. class. It was disrespectful and shows a certain disregard for my personal feelings to which I take offense. Now get to work!"

While she wrote furiously, he sat at his desk and thumbed through his potions books. Finally finding what he wanted, he casually strolled over to where Miss Granger sat writing her essay. He looked over her shoulder. True to form, she had written past the requirement but seemed to be finishing up. He did notice, however, that only a short paragraph mentioned the incident in class.

"Here," she said, shoving it into his hands, "I'm done."

"And it's only…," he checked the clock on the wall, "midnight. I hope you don't have too much other homework."

"May I go?"

He found her forced politeness irritating and he wished for nothing more than for her to leave, but not before she had seen his book.

"Not yet," he said, placing the book before her. "Turn to page 687 and read the second line of the third paragraph." She eyed him suspiciously but did as she was told.

"Unlike unicorns, bicorns are rarer but there are small populations in the south of Wales, Siberia, and in the Andes mountains of South America," she read aloud.

"So you see Miss Granger, you are the one that's wrong."

"But, I know I read somewhere that…" she said more to herself than to him. "Can I borrow this book, Professor?"

"Two days, Miss Granger, you have two days and then I expect your announcement in the Great Hall."

* * *

He didn't think she left the library for the next two days. Between her advanced classes, the twenty foot essay he had set, and her desperate attempt to prove him wrong, she was drowning in parchment and dusty tomes.

With great anticipation, he looked forward to dinner on Thursday night.

"Why you're almost smiling, Severus," Minerva cooed at him in her normal irritating manner as he took his seat at the high table, then suddenly she turned serious. "How many points did you take this time?"

"None, you hag," he sneered. That wasn't true. He had taken 36 points from Gryffindor today—not his personal best but not bad either. But he couldn't tell her the real reason behind his cheerful mood. She might tell Albus and she would definitely try and put a stop to it.

"You aren't this happy after a day of classes for no reason," she accused him, returning his glare with one of her own. A loud clanging interrupted their staring contest.

"Ummmm, excuse me," he heard Granger say as she tapped the edge of her glass with her spoon. Even now she remained overconfident, her voice never losing that bossy know-it-all quality. Sitting on the edge of his seat, he waited.

"I just wanted everyone to know that today is Teacher Appreciation Day here at Hogwart's and I think it's high time that we appreciate Professor Snape—the best teacher Hogwart's has ever seen."

Everyone in the room turned and stared at the girl. Spoons dropped to the floor, their loud clanking the only sound in the otherwise silent hall. She had accomplished a miracle that he had only ever seen done by the headmaster—she had inspired an entire room of rowdy and hungry teenagers to be quiet.

"Right, yes…," she stammered, losing her confidence, "Well…next month there will be another Teacher Appreciation Day, so please bring me your nominations before the 30th. Uh…thank you." She sat down quickly.

The room erupted into a cacophony of noise; the students picking up conversations where they had been interrupted and chattering about Hermione's announcement.

"What a nice idea!" he heard Flitwick exclaim to Minerva.

"Yes, but I'm curious as to why Severus was the first nominee," she said bitterly. He smiled secretly to himself. She was jealous, just as he had hoped she would be.

"I think that should be obvious. I am obviously underappreciated," he said with a scowl. "It's about time someone realized my worth around here, pity it had to come from the likes of Granger."

He finished his food quickly and left in a swirl of robes. Not until he was in his office, alone and grading papers, did he allow himself to smile at the evening's events. And he could look forward to three weeks of a question free Granger. Too bad really that he hadn't thought of this before, he might not have had to put up with her irritating inquiries every five minutes for years. Well, he would be sure to enjoy it while it lasted. His reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in!" he barked. The door swung open to reveal the object of his thoughts.

"Ah, Miss Granger I'd like to thank you for the honor of being Hogwart's first nominee of your Teacher Appreciation Day. That was quite creative of you."

"You're welcome, Professor," she replied icily, "That's actually why I'm here."

He looked at her confused.

"The bet is over. I won and you lost. I was right and you were wrong. What else is there?" he asked.

"This," she shoved a book into his hand. "Page 567, fifth line of the third paragraph."

He took the book, but didn't open it.

"What is this about, Miss Granger?"

"Just read page 567, the fifth line of the third paragraph," she said slowly.

With a scowl he turned to the page and began reading, "Bicorn populations have been declining in the last half century, making the acquisition of their horns even more difficult than before. The herd that inhabited the hills of southern Wales has completely disappeared due to the encroaching Muggle population and lack of viable food sources."

He stopped abruptly.

"I can't believe I didn't find it earlier, but I knew I had read somewhere that there were no more bicorns in Britain. I just couldn't remember where it was and then suddenly after dinner tonight it occurred to me to look in some of the books that my parents bought me for my birthday. I opened this one up and there…."

"That's quite enough," he snapped, slamming the book down on his desk.

"Yes…well, this is a fairly new book so I'm sure that's why you didn't know. It was just printed this year," she said timidly.

"Twenty points for being such an irritating know-it-all."

"But, Professor," she protested indignantly.

"I'm giving them back."

"Not necessary, sir, but thank you. I'll be looking forward to dinner tomorrow night," she said with a sly smile and before he could reply, she slid out of the room.

He could hear her whistling as she practically skipped down the hall and for a split second his wand hand twitched and images of him throwing a few hexes flashed before him. They were in the dungeons, no one would hear, and after a quick obliviate no one would be the wiser—even Miss Granger herself. No, he was a sore loser but not that sore, and more importantly he might get caught by a wandering student, ghost, or even a nosy portrait.

Sitting down slowly, he contemplated this new twist. What was he going to do? She had cleverly encased her announcement in an award but there was no such thing as a Student Appreciation Day. He summoned his bottle of Ogden's firewhiskey and tossed his marking aside. He would think of something, he always did.

* * *

But this time he didn't. He spent the better part of the day going over what he could say in the Great Hall that night and nothing came to mind until the dreaded moment arrived. He saw her watching him from her spot between Potter and Weasley. Like a prisoner being led to their death, he slowly rose to his feet.

"Listen up you bunch of dunderheads, I have an announcement to make. Miss Granger announced last night that I was to be appreciated this month. I'm here to tell you that you will do no such thing. I'm not here to garner your thanks or your admiration. Most days I just pray to survive your inept attempts at potionmaking. With that said, you could all follow Miss Granger's example, she is the least likely to kill me with a disastrous potion."

His little speech done, he quickly left the room. He didn't want to see their reactions and especially not hers.

He didn't see her again until Monday. She didn't say anything about his announcement. Technically, he hadn't fulfilled his end of the bet. Technically, he was supposed to admit she was the best student he ever had. He was wondering if she would be bold enough to point this out to him, when he noticed her hand was raised. It hadn't even been three minutes since the start of class.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" he asked snidely. She smiled triumphantly. It was going to be a long three weeks till the end of the term.


	2. Hermione

**Chapter Two**

For three whole days Hermione contemplated on insisting that Professor Snape fulfill his end of their bet, something beyond admitting that "Miss Granger is the least likely to kill me." Initially she rejected the idea. She was, after all, the better person here. She could see that his pride had been delivered quite a blow by even his forced admission, and besides she had gained the right to ask any question she wanted in class.

"I was wondering about the properties of nightshade. How can it be a main ingredient in both a potion like the Pepper-up potion, meant to be used as a stimulant, and in this one we're brewing meant to induce sleep?"

He turned and glared at her. She could sense the barely suppressed frustration and anger behind his eyes, but he didn't frighten her—he hadn't since the end of her fourth year, and besides Potions fascinated her, surly professor or not. For a moment it looked as if he might answer but then he paused.

"I don't know, Miss Granger," he said through gritted teeth, and she briefly wondered how much willpower it had taken for him to say those three words. "But maybe you would like to research the subject. I expect two feet on the topic by tomorrow."

Hermione hadn't minded the extra work, she had found the information readily enough in the library and the subject proved to be thoroughly interesting. However, after the fourth essay she had changed her mind.

"Sir, NEWTs are in two weeks. I don't have time to write another essay this week," she protested after class.

"Perhaps you will keep that in mind before you raise your hand and ask another irritating question," he snarled at her.

"That's unfair! You aren't keeping your end of the bargain!"

"Of course I am. I agreed to call on you when your hand was raised and I have. Your arm must be feeling better, although with all that extra writing, I think perhaps not," he said mockingly, a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

So he thought he had won? Well he had never crossed Hermione Granger. She would make sure that he regretted the day he made that silly bet with her. Although first, she needed leverage. She would need to do some research, but luckily, that was something at which she excelled. She wasn't sure what she was looking for but she open to any ideas. What she really needed was something embarrassing but she couldn't think of a tactful way to pose such a question, short of, "Please, Professor McGonagall, has Professor Snape ever gotten pissed, taken off his robes, and danced through the greenhouses singing Italian arias to the mandrakes. And if he has, do you have any hard evidence, say a video recording of this?" So she tried the next best thing.

"Professor McGonagall, I wanted to talk to you about Professor Snape," she said, catching the older woman as she came out of her classroom on the way to lunch in the Great Hall. She looked at Hermione sternly.

"Why, what has he done this time?" McGonagall asked.

"Oh, nothing out of the ordinary," Hermione lied. She didn't tell her about their bet, she didn't want to be a tattle-tell, and she got the distinct impression that the Transfiguration professor wouldn't approve and most likely put a stop to her plan.

"I'm just worried that he never smiles or seems to have any fun."

"You are quite taken with him recently, aren't you?" McGonagall tutted. "First with nominating him Teacher of the Month and now this; I assure you, Miss Granger, that Professor Snape is perfectly fine, if not a little cranky. He's always like that, though how you've failed to notice is beyond me."

Hermione could see that the older woman still held bitter feeling about being passed over for Teacher Appreciation Day. She would have to make it up to her somehow, maybe a present at the Leaving Feast, with a little note telling her who her favorite professor _really_ was.

"So he's never happy?" she asked dejectedly.

"The only time he ever approaches pleasant human interaction is when he's had too much Ogden's, and that's mainly because he's too drunk to come up with clever and mean things to say. He speaks a different language, my dear, but once you learn it you can recognize when he thinks highly of something or someone. But you had better just stay out of his way."

"Yes, ma'am," she said, nodding her head as if in agreement, but she had no such plans. So Snape spoke a different language? Well, she sincerely hoped he understood blackmail.

Standing outside his door the next day, Hermione took a deep breath and counted to ten. It had taken her hours and every ounce of courage in her to convince herself to carry out her plan. She only hoped her gamble paid off and that her suspicions that Snape occasionally drank himself into such a stupor that he didn't remember what he did the next morning proved correct.

'I can do this, I can do this,' she chanted to herself. She would not back down. Finally feeling ready, she entered his office without knocking, strode to his desk, and slammed a large manila envelope down.

"What is the meaning of this, Miss Granger," Professor Snape hissed.

"I have something you might be interested in, sir," she said icily. One hand remained on the envelope while she dug her fingernails into the palm of her other. Where was that Gryffindor courage when she needed it? If she could handle Lucius Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange then surely she could handle Snape, couldn't she?

"I sincerely doubt that, unless you have the essay I assigned yesterday done. Ten feet on the uses of unicorn hair in experimental potions?" he said reaching for the envelope. She pulled it away from his grasp.

"I'm not doing that essay," she retorted. He lifted an eyebrow at her and scowled.

"Aren't you?" he said in what was clearly a threat.

"No, I'm not. You know perfectly well that there isn't enough material to write three feet on that subject let alone ten!" The scowl disappeared, replaced by a small and malevolent smile.

"Then what, pray tell me, do you want, Miss Granger?" She took a breath and looked him squarely in the eye.

"I want you to fulfill your end of the bet."

"I believe we already discussed this. I have called on you in class like we agreed."

"Not that. Your little announcement at dinner the other night wasn't per our agreement. You were supposed to announce that I was the best student you have ever had, not the 'least likely to kill you with a disastrous potion,'" she argued. The scowl returned and she dug her fingernails deeper into the palm of her hand to keep from trembling.

"That is the highest compliment I have ever paid a student," he argued.

"I believe you, but it's not enough. I am prepared, however, to make a concession."

"What would that be?" he asked.

"You don't have to make the announcement in the Great Hall, just in the seventh year NEWT class. Just as long as Malfoy hears." That should wipe the smirk off his arrogant face, she thought.

"And if I refuse?"

"I thought you were honorable, Snape."

"That's _Professor_ Snape to you, and wherever did you get that idea?"

"I'm not certain now, but that's not the point," she said.

"I'm quickly tiring of this, Miss Granger, so the sooner you arrive at your point the better," he sneered.

"I have some mementos here of the staff Christmas party last year," she said hoping he would get the idea without her spelling everything out.

"So?"

"So, they show a very merry Professor Snape singing 'The 12 Days of Christmas.'"

"What?" His pale face whitened until Hermione thought she could see the individual veins. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You really should cut back on the Firewhiskey, if I may say so, sir. Especially if it causes you to do things you don't remember."

"Where did you get those?" He asked, motioning at the envelope.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that I have them. Your reputation as a strict disciplinarian will be quite undercut with students humming Christmas carols under their breath, I imagine."

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for blackmailing a teacher, Miss Granger. You surprise me," he said and she knew that he was trying to regain control of the situation. She couldn't balk now, she must remain strong.

"I'm sure my housemates will understand the loss of points when they see these," she said, pulling the envelope off the table and turning towards the door. She hadn't made it five steps before he called her back.

"Wait." She stopped. "You're right, it's only fair."

"Tomorrow then," she said, turning back to him. He nodded curtly.

"Get out of my sight, Miss Granger." She happily obliged, nearly skipping through the halls.

"What are you so cheerful about?" The portrait of George the Gruesome asked with a grimace as she climbed the stairs back to Gryffindor Tower.

"I've just won a bet," she answered with a smile.

* * *

She could hardly wait for Potions the next morning and she arrived earlier than anyone else did, in her seat ten minutes before the other students sauntered in. Professor Snape stormed in as he usually did, and the directions for the day's potion appeared on the blackboard with the slightest flick of his wrist. 

"Today we are brewing the Mentira Potion," he said smoothly. "Can anyone tell me the properties of this particular potion?" Hermione's face fell. He had beaten her again.

"Mr. Finnegan?" Snape asked.

"It causes the drinker to tell lies, sir," Seamus answered.

"Correct. And why, Miss Granger, would someone want such a potion?" he asked, a smirk on his face. She clenched her fists underneath her desk.

"They would take it if they wanted to avoid telling the truth, for example, if the truth was too painful to admit," she said, narrowing her eyes.

"That's one reason. Any others?" A stony silence fell over the room while the students tried to remember if there had been something in the reading or if this was one of those questions they were supposed to "think" about and come up with the answer. When no one answered after a few moments, Snape began deducting points.

"Five points from Gryffindor. Can you think of no other reason, Mr. Potter?"

"If someone were a spy they might take it to avoid being caught," Harry said pointedly.

"You've been reading too many poorly written novels, Mr. Potter, and not enough of your textbook. Five more points from Gryffindor," Snape said, glaring back at him. "Does anyone else have an _intelligent_ response? No one? Five feet on the subject due next class with appropriate examples. Now get started," he barked.

An hour later, Hermione had finished her potion. Turning down her flame, she gave the cloudy green liquid one last stir.

"Let's see how you did," Snape said, striding over to her workstation. He sniffed disdainfully and moved to bottle some of her potion. She almost didn't notice it, the slight of hand as he added something to it. And then the potion had turned a slightly darker green, almost undetectable, but she could tell.

"Everyone pay attention. Just a sip should cause the next few things I say to be lies. If I were to drink the whole vial then I would be unable to speak the truth for the next week." He sipped from the flask, while everyone waited in anticipation. He looked at Hermione.

"Miss Granger is the best student I've ever had," he said and then turned to Neville. "Mr. Longbottom excels in Potions and Mr. Potter is my favorite student." He paused and set the potion back on the table.

"It must have worked," Hermione heard Seamus whisper to Dean. "He certainly doesn't believe anything he just said."

"It appears that you brewed the potion correctly," Snape sneered. "Two points from Gryffindor, however, the color is slightly off. Class dismissed." The room broke out in cacophonous clatter as the seventh years hurried to collect their things and leave so they could properly discuss what they had just witnessed. Hermione hung back, waiting until everyone had left before she approached Snape, who moved to his desk.

"Very clever of you, sir," she said. He looked up at her.

"Thank you, Miss Granger."

"I only have one question."

"Only one? How unusual." She ignored the barb. She had grown quite accustomed to them over the years.

"Why did you slip something into my potion to ruin it? Were you afraid you wouldn't be able to admit that I was the best student you ever had?" she asked.

"I have no idea what you're rambling on about."

"It's just that if it wasn't a lie then you wouldn't be able to say it, that's how the Mentira Potion works. So you put something in mine to ruin it so you could make it seem like a lie."

"You're suggesting that I ruined a potion meant to make me lie so that I could lie? I think you have overtaxed your brain, Miss Granger. You're not making any sense. Besides when have your potions been anything other than perfect?"

"Was that a compliment?"

"No."

"Anyway, back to my point…"

"Which was?"

"That you really do think I'm the best student you've ever had, so you had to ruin my potion in order to say that. It only looked like a lie but, in truth, the potion didn't work so you were able to tell the truth. And the truth is that you think I'm the best student you've ever had."

"Must you be so tiresome? Is it really that important to you to know that you are the best student I have ever had? Does it also help to know that you are the most irritating, having recently beaten out Potter and Longbottom for that distinction? Or what about the most stubborn and pig-headed? Or exasperating? You never cease to drag us off topic with your questions, you write more than I assign as if reading about the same topic year after year thirty times will somehow be different and exciting in your purple prose, and to top it all off you correct me in front of the class because I hadn't gotten around to reading the latest Potions manual. Do you think I have time to read everything there is to read on the acquisition of bicorns?"

She stared at him in disbelief while he ranted and raved in front of her.

"So you really do think I'm the best student you've ever had?" she asked timidly. She thought she had said that but she couldn't be sure, there had been so much pent up frustration released afterwards. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

"Yes, Miss Granger, you are the best student I have ever had."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're not particularly welcome."

"I know but that makes it that much more special," she said smiling at him. He waved his hand, dismissing her.

"One more thing."

"What now?" he growled, scowling at her.

"I just wanted to give you this," she said, handing him a small plaque. He took it, a bewildered look crossing his face. "It says _Hogwarts Teacher Appreciation Month, Professor Severus Snape, 'The best teacher Hogwarts has ever seen!'"_

"I can read," he snapped. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"No. I just decided that it wasn't such a bad idea after all, although Professor McGonagall was rather put out that she wasn't chosen first. I've told the sixth years to keep up the tradition, maybe she'll win it next year," she explained. He looked up at her and the corners of his lips turned up in the tiniest of smiles.

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Would you like to bet on that, sir?" she asked with a mischievous smile.

"No, Miss Granger, I would not," he said sternly, but Hermione rather thought the normal sting was missing from his voice. She turned to leave, pausing at the door.

"Congratulations, sir," she said, before skipping out the door.

* * *

A/N: It's taken me awhile but I have finally finished this story. I hope you enjoyed Hermione's view of things, and please let me know what you think in a review. 


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